The Noble And Most Ancient House Of Longbottom
by Kara's Aunty
Summary: Frank and Alice Longbottom display the honour and nobility that made them so popular in the Wizarding World and moved a stunned society to lash out in anger after the vicious attack which incapacitated them. Warning: Extreme violence. UK English.


**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is owned by J.K Rowling, etc. Not me. I'm only dabbling my unworthy fingers in her magical world.

**Credit:** www dot hp-encyclopedia dot com, Harry Potter wiki.

****WARNING:** The following fan fiction contains swearing and scenes of extreme and prolonged torture. Those of a sensitive nature are STRONGLY ADVISED to press the back button at the top of the page. Thank you.**

**Note: **This story is NOT intended to glorify torture of _any_ kind. It is a merely a (probably very poor) tribute to the fictional characters who bore it so courageously.

**The Noble And Most Ancient House Of Longbottom**__

Late Summer, 1982

"The Leaky Cauldron!"

There was a burst of green light as the Floo powder hit one of the many fireplaces at the Ministry of Magic and tongues of emerald flames roared into life, flickering invitingly at the passersby. A sandy-haired man of average height stepped over the hearth and into their midst, allowing himself to be safely transported to his destination. He stepped out gracefully at the other end, brushing the ash from the shoulders of his deep red coat and walked across the dimly lit room. A few of the tables were occupied, but he was quite unable to identify the patrons in the pub's dim light. As it was, he had little time to indulge his curiosity, intent only on making a brief stop at the stationer's before returning home to his family following the end of his shift. Ignoring the shady characters, he headed towards the rear of the room, focussed solely on reaching the small courtyard that would lead him onto Diagon Alley.

"'Ello Frank! 'Ow's that lovely wife o' yours?"

The man stopped briefly as he was passing the bar.

"Evening, Tom. She's fine, thanks for asking."

Tom leaned on the counter and slung the cloth he had been using to wipe it with over his shoulder. He gave a toothless grin, making his wrinkled, weathered face resemble little more than a giant walnut.

"She's a fine lass, is Alice. Always ready with a smile and a kind word. Unless, o' course, yer a Death Eater!" the older man cackled in amusement, then wiped his rheumy eyes with his sleeve. "An' the lad? When're ye going to bring 'im round again to see his Uncle Tom?"

Frank grinned good-naturedly. "When you stop trying to ply him with Firewhisky, I should think. He's only two, you know."

"Why, I weren't trying to ply him with Firewhisky! It were apple juice. From me own Aunt Mabel's orchard, an' all. Got to keep the younger customers 'appy, too, ye know."

The Auror chuckled. "You don't have an Aunt Mabel, Tom and we both know it. But if you swear it was just apple juice, then I'll take you at your word."

"Ah, yer a good lad, Frank. One o' the best! Next time yer brings the little feller in, the apple juice is on the 'ouse!"

"That's very generous of you, Tom."

"Well, it's the least I can do for the son of two o' the Ministry's best Aurors. A right good job yer make o' keeping the streets clean. An' a clean street is good for business, yer know. Only makes sense that I encourage yer to keep up the good work!"

Tom winked at him and Frank laughed.

"I should arrest you on the spot for bribery, you know that?"

"Go on wiv yer! Get yerself back 'ome to that lovely wife o' yours afore she starts worrying about yer. 'Ave me arrested, indeed!"

Still laughing, Frank waved a friendly goodbye and headed for the rear door once more. A minute later, he was tapping the bricks in the back courtyard and they rearranged themselves into an archway. He stepped through it onto Diagon Alley and strode towards the stationer's shop. Evening was setting in and the cobbled streets were emptier than they would have been an hour earlier, but he still had time to make it to the little store to buy more parchment and ink to restock the dwindling supply in his study at home.

"Evening, Frank!"

A woman he recognised from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement gave him a cheery wave as she rushed past carrying an enormous birdcage. It housed a magnificent tawny owl. A little boy of about nine years old was running eagerly behind it and passing owl treats to the bird through the bars. She paused briefly to throw a look of exasperation at her offspring.

"Gerald! I told you to stop that five minutes ago! Do you want the poor animal to swell to the size of a house? We'll never get it out of the cage when we get it back home, if you keep that up," she snapped, transferring the cage to her right side and grabbing the pouting boy's wrist with her left hand.

"But, Mum! Bagnold looks hungry."

"You are not naming a bird after the _Minister of Magic_!" declared his scandalised mother.

"But I was gonna call her Baggy for short!" protested Gerald, looking crestfallen. "No one'll know if you don't tell them!"

"Absolutely not! I work at the Ministry, you know. What if she found out I let my son name a blooming owl after her?"

"What if I call her Bogey, then?"

The woman nearly gagged and Frank's grin widened. "That's disgusting!"

"Got your hands full there, Barbara?" he called out in amusement.

"I'm telling you, Frank, you don't know what you've let yourself in for," she said with a wry smile, nodding at her son before marching the child back down in the direction he had come. "Bye, love!"

"See you, Barbara," he replied, grinning at the thought of his own offspring. Fortunately for him, Neville was barely two years old, so there was a while to go yet before he had to worry about the lad awarding any future pets with dubious names.

Still grinning, he continued briskly down the street and several people called out friendly greetings, or waved at him in recognition as they passed by. It was good to see so many happy faces. So different from the way things used to be.

The way they were before James and Lily had been murdered.

A twinge of grief pulled at his chest. He missed them.

James had been his friend ever since his third year of Hogwarts, even though Frank had been two years his senior. He and Alice had even invited him to their wedding and were both very amused to see him turn up with Lily Evans on his arm. Alice had invited the lovely redhead in her own right, having been close to her in her final year of Hogwarts when they had been Prefects together, but both she and Frank had been surprised to see that James had finally accomplished his highest goal of securing the fiery Gryffindor as his girlfriend, especially when Lily had spent so many years repelling his amorous advances - usually with a well-aimed hex and a, "Not in this lifetime, Potter!".

After the wedding. the two couples lost touch for a short while. He and Alice entered Auror training and James and Lily returned to Hogwarts to complete their education. They had rekindled their friendship when James joined the Aurors later the following summer and the two men often ate lunch together.

When the couple had announced their engagement, he had been delighted for them. The wedding itself was a particularly exciting event for the Longbottoms because it had been held in a Muggle church. The pure-bloods had rarely had the opportunity to interact with real Muggles before and had spent a full week in great excitement, poring over Muggle magazines - kindly supplied by Lily - in order to get an idea of what they should wear to a Muggle wedding. Personally, he thought his tweed suit, top hat and Wellington boots had been a smashing success, even though Alice had spent days trying to talk him out of it. But James and Lily hadn't minded - they had only had eyes for each other.

But the wedding had been tinged with the fear of an assault from Death Eaters, who were growing ever bolder in their acts of terrorism against Muggle-borns under He Who Must Not Be Named's iron thumb. He and Alice, along with Sirius, Remus and various other Wizarding guests had kept a discreet watch throughout the day for signs of an attack, though, fortunately, the day had ended without a hitch (apart from Lily's regret at her sister's absence).

Attacks against Muggle-borns and Muggles themselves intensified over the next two years as He Who Must Not Be Named grew in power. The self-proclaimed Dark 'Lord' attacked homes and businesses, slaying Muggleborns and half-bloods alike. Even pure-bloods were not immune to his wrath if they dared speak out against him. As the months progressed, it was not uncommon to see the Dark Mark hanging eerily above the houses of those who had been slain on his order.

In wake of the Ministry's ineptitude to apprehend both the Death Eaters and their master, Albus Dumbledore had founded the Order of the Phoenix and approached the Longbottoms to become members, as they were two of the few people who had shown themselves able to hold their own against the Death Eaters - had, in fact, apprehended several. They had willingly agreed and participated in several reconnaissance and rescue missions, even engaging He Who Must Not Be Named himself on at least three occasions. But as the success of the Order grew and everyone in it began to hope that their nemesis could be defeated, the members themselves began to come under personal attack from his forces. Edgar Bones and his family had been wiped out in a callous attack that had stunned them all; Caradoc Dearborn was missing, presumed dead - and Dorcas Meadowes had been murdered by He Who Must Not Named personally. It soon became clear that there was a spy in the Order and friendships had been strained as suspicion reared its ugly head.

Yet, despite all his best endeavours, not even Dumbledore himself had been able to unmask the traitor and Order members continued to fall at the scene of carefully planned attacks by the enemy.

When Alice had fallen pregnant with Neville, Frank insisted she withdraw from both Auror duties and the Order for her safety and that of their unborn child. Lily was pregnant at the same time, but the two women stubbornly continued with their duties until the sixth month of their respective pregnancies and it had been with great relief that both he and James had seen them retire to the safety of their homes in preparation for the births.

The thirtieth of July that year had been the happiest day of his life. He still remembered seeing his son for the first time, holding his tiny body in his arms and being scared witless that he would drop him or crush him unintentionally. Alice had laughed and told him not to be so silly and when the baby opened his eyes and stared straight at him, his heart had swollen with such indescribable love, such fierce protection, that he thought he might explode with the intensity of it. Lily was admitted to St Mungo's the very same night and gave birth to Harry in the early hours of the next morning. Both Frank and James had left at noon that day to celebrate at the Leaky with Sirius and a few friends while their wives slept, and got so drunk that Tom had to put them in a guest room to sleep it off before they returned to the hospital.

Everything had been wonderful for those first few weeks after Neville's birth. They had taken him back to their Yorkshire home and ensconced him in the nursery. Both Frank's and Alice's parents had been almost permanent fixtures, reading to him, playing with him and generally spoiling the babe - even his normally strict mother - to give Alice time to recover and adjust herself to her new role. Which, he supposed, was a good thing, because it had been difficult for him to get any time off work to spend with his new son due to the relentless attacks of the Death Eaters. But he had been blissfully happy in the knowledge that he was able to return to the haven of his home at the end of his shift and play with his child, or stand watching him in wonder as he slept. As long as Alice and Neville were safe, he could be happy.

So it had been with much surprise that they had answered the summons to bring Neville to meet Dumbledore at the Hog's Head a few weeks later and arrived to find James, Lily and baby Harry already there. And the surprise had turned to horror when both couples learned that their sons were targeted for death by the Dark Lord himself on the basis of a questionable prophecy. With those words, Dumbledore had dispelled any sense of contentment Frank had found at home. They had been forced to abandon it and hide themselves in a sleepy Muggle village in north Wales under the protection of a Fidelius charm, with Dumbledore acting as the Secret Keeper.

But, though they should have felt safe in their Welsh retreat, the months that followed were a trial of both strength and nerve. As much as the company of his wife and son were a joy to him, Frank had always been a man of action and the little cottage had quickly lost its charm as the confinement and solitude pressed in around him like a living thing. Arguments became a common occurrence between the couple and when he voiced his intention to return to the Order, Alice had been so distraught with worry that she had refused to speak with him for two days.

In the end, they reached a compromise: he would return to his duties as both Auror and Order member, and she would remain safely secluded with Neville. It had worked out well for the first two months - until he told Alice that the famous Prewett twins had been ambushed and murdered by Antonin Dolohov and four other Death Eaters. Much to his horror, she had decided that she would not remain hidden any longer and insisted on returning to England with him. He had tried to dissuade her by pointing out that Neville needed her, but she had argued that Neville needed them both and that she would not allow him to continue his work without her there to keep an eye on him, especially with a traitor in their ranks.

And so it was that Augusta Longbottom moved to Wales to watch her grandson during the day, while they teamed up once more to fight against He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers.

However, less than a year later, the unimaginable happened. On the first day of November, Mad-Eye brought them the news that the Potters had been murdered by He Who Must Not Be Named. Frank and Alice were stunned. And the news got worse: they had been betrayed by none other than Sirius Black - one of their closest friends. Black had been apprehended not far from the scene, but not before killing Peter Pettigrew and several Muggles. The only good news was that Harry had not only survived, but he had somehow managed to defeat the most feared Dark Lord in over a hundred years.

He Who Must Not Be Named, it seemed, was dead.

Devastated by the loss of their colleagues and good friends, they offered to bring up Harry together with Neville - it was the least they could do for the Potters. But Mad-Eye had gruffly told them that Harry had been placed in the care of Lily's sister by Dumbledore - and this news had angered Alice so much that he'd thought she might blast the old Auror out of the house. It was no secret that Petunia Dursley hated everything about the Wizarding world. The Muggle woman was every bit as bad as a pure-blood extremist, only in reverse, and his wife had lobbied Dumbledore for weeks to change his mind and give Harry into their safekeeping. The old wizard was very firm in his refusal, much to their confusion and chagrin and neither Frank nor Alice had been able to look at him with quite the same admiration again.

Life had been slow in returning to normal after the remarkable victory of the newly named Boy-Who-Lived, such were the celebrations throughout the Wizarding world. But neither Longbottom participated in them, too relieved at realising their son was now free to live his life, yet ashamed for feeling such relief given what it had cost the Potters.

Did they have the right to celebrate when their friends were dead? Was it wrong to find happiness, to rejoice in knowing that their son would never experience the trauma of becoming an orphan, or of dying young, given the price that had been paid? And what of Harry? How would the little boy cope growing up in a hostile household? What assurances had Dumbledore that the ugly head of prejudice would not rear itself in the shape of Petunia Dursley?

No. He may be relieved that the threat of harm had been removed from his son, but he could never truly celebrate when it had come at so high a price.

Frank was so lost in his memories that he almost missed the stationer's. Shaking his head free of the morbid thoughts, he entered the brightly lit shop. There were no other customers present, so he would be able to collect his supplies and not worry about waiting in a queue to pay for them. He offered a smile to the girl at the counter.

"Hello, Mr Longbottom! Surely you've not run out of parchment again?"

"Evening, Sally. Yes, I'm afraid I have," he replied, smiling at the chubby girl as he headed for the aisles. Her pretty blue eyes twinkled.

"It's all them love notes you're writing to that wife of yours! You'll need to start buying in bulk so's you don't have to keep coming in every few days. I could give you a discount, you know."

He laughed. "Ah, but then I wouldn't have the pleasure of seeing you every week, would I?"

Sally blushed. "You're a scoundrel, you are, Mr Longbottom! What would that wife of yours think if she heard you saying that?"

"No doubt she would be delighted at the possibility of being rid of me," Frank joked.

"Oh, you! Parchment's in the usual place, sir. And there's a sale on Berry Black Ink - though don't tell the boss I told you that. He'd like it if everyone bought the dearer stuff, instead. Just look for the bargain bin at the rear, if you like."

"Thanks, love," he replied, "I might just do that."

Frank passed several displays of quills and some of the more popular brands of ink at the front of the shop and headed towards the aisles in the middle. He scanned the various coloured parchments on offer and found his preferred shade of ivory, selecting a generous handful to restock his dwindling office supplies. Turning on his heel, he walked towards the rear of the shop and looked first left, then right, before spotting the shallow cylindrical bin Sally had kindly told him about.

He was just collecting a pot of ink when the tinkling of the doorbell announced a new customer. Thinking nothing of it, he picked up another pot to add to the first and made his way back to the counter. A tall, thin man with a hooded brown cloak was browsing nonchalantly through the impressive selection of quills and glanced up briefly at the Auror before returning his gaze to the quill stand. Frank frowned slightly, suddenly alert. The man seemed vaguely familiar, but it was difficult to get a good look at him with his head bowed and the cloak hood concealing the majority of his facial features. Still, his senses were tingling and he recognised this for the warning it was.

Unwilling to arouse the stranger's suspicion, he took the last few steps to the counter and placed his purchases on it. There was no point in confronting the man inside the shop, for it would put Sally in danger.

He would wait for him outside.

"You got everything you need there, Mr Longbottom?"

Mustering a smile, Frank placed his parchments and quills on the counter and kept the conversation short. He could feel the stranger's eyes boring into his back and he was anxious to leave the shop and limit the danger to the friendly girl.

"Yes. Thanks, Sally. If you could just pop them in a bag, I'd better be off home before the old trouble and strife sends a search party out looking for me."

Laughing, Sally rang up the bill and he handed her some coins. Soon, his parchment and quills were bagged and he waved her goodbye, shoving one hand in his pocket and heading for the door as if he were no more than another weary customer heading home for dinner.

But just as he grabbed the handle, he felt a heavy hand clamp down on his shoulder and knew without turning it was the brown-cloaked stranger. He tried to pull his wand out, but felt a sharp jab at the base of his spine as the stranger prodded him with his own and there was a low hiss in his ear.

"Don't make any sudden moves, or I'll kill the girl. Keep walking."

Reluctant to comply, Frank debated his chances of twisting around and overpowering the man.

"I mean it! I'll kill her!" spat his companion and Frank could have kicked himself. He had deliberated too long and almost put Sally in danger. Angry with himself, he stepped outside the shop with his mysterious enemy in tow. Diagon Alley had emptied in the short time he had spent in the stationer's, a fact which offered some relief. If it came to a fight, at least there would be as few innocent bystanders as possible rushing around, ready to be caught with a stray hex.

"Move!" commanded his captor, shoving him roughly in the back and forcing him past the stationer's. Frank saw Sally glancing curiously out the window, her gaze resting on the hand that gripped forcefully into her favourite customer's shoulder. She frowned slightly and he thought she might follow them outside. Alarmed that she might be putting herself at risk, he gave her a little smile to show he was well and she relaxed, allowing him to concentrate on his would-be abductor.

"Where to? And who are you?" he demanded, trying to distract the stranger with questions as he was marched down Diagon Alley. He gripped the wand in his pocket.

"None of your business - yet," came the sharp reply. "And if you even think about pulling that wand out, I'll blast your hand off. I said _move_!"

"Why did you grab me like that in the shop?" he asked casually as they passed Quality Quidditch Supplies. "You could've waited until I was outside."

"What, and let you give me the slip? That wouldn't have been very smart. The shop was more convenient. After all, the famous Frank Longbottom is renowned for rushing to peoples rescue. What better way to ensure your cooperation than to threaten the useless hag at the counter? Now, move it!"

"Not until you tell me where we're going," snapped Frank, tightening his grip on his wand. It was clear the other man had known how to find him. But how? He hadn't noticed anyone following him...

The answer came to him almost instantly. A Disillusionment charm!

Alarmed at the thought he had been so easily fooled, Frank planned his escape. He could not afford to let the other man march him away to Merlin knew where for Merlin knew what purpose. He had a wife and son waiting at home for him. Why had the stranger accosted him in the first place? What did he want?

"I asked you where you're taking me?" he demanded angrily.

"You'll find out soon enough. And stop fiddling around in your pocket! Let me see your hand!"

There was absolutely no way he was going to concede to that request - if he let go of his wand, he would be at the other man's mercy.

If the dubious bloke _had_ any mercy.

Deciding it was now or never, Frank casually asked, "Which hand? _This_ hand?"

He whirled around and smacked the brown paper bag filled with parchments and ink bottles into the stranger's face, knowing it wouldn't be enough to disarm him.

But it did provide a distraction.

The momentum of his turn gave extra weight to the ink bottles and there was a satisfying crack as they caught the surprised man on the temple. His would-be captor lowered his guard to fend the bag off as he yelped in pain, which gave the Auror just enough time to pull out his wand and brandish it in his direction. But before he could immobilise the furious bloke...

"_Stupefy_!"

A spell from a second assailant caught him between the shoulders and he collapsed into unconsciousness.

*~*~*~*

It was much later when Frank woke with groan, wondering why his head was sore. Did he have a hangover? Funny, he couldn't remember going out for a drink after work. Why was it so dark? And cold? Where was Alice?

Groggily, he reached out a hand to lift himself up, only to discover he couldn't. Both his hands were bound tightly behind his back. Alarmed, he shook himself into awareness to take better stock of his situation. He was on a wooden floor in a large room? cavern? It was difficult to tell because the only light came from a single candelabra thirty feet away. He could see at least three shapes behind the feeble light. One was the familiar thin figure of the brown-cloaked stranger, but the other two he didn't recognise.

"It seems our guest is awake, my love," said one of the others, a man by the deep timbre of his voice. The man walked lazily towards him. "And how are we feeling?"

"Oh, just fine, thanks for asking. Don't suppose you'd do me a favour and untie these ropes so I can hex you and you friends over there beyond recognition?" asked Frank with a good deal more confidence than he felt.

There was a high-pitched cackle of laughter and another tall figure moved towards him.

"Well, well, well. Aren't you the comedian, Longbottom?" asked the second one. Long, elegant hands reached up to lower a dark hood and a shining mass of dark hair tumbled out. Heavy lidded eyes regarded him in amusement as recognition dawned.

Bellatrix Lestrange!

"It looks like Rabastan has caught us a proper little joker, Dolpho darling. Do you think he will still be able to make me laugh if I do this?"

She jerked her arm and a wand slid down from the depths of her sleeve into her slender hand, then she pointed it at him.

"_Crucio_!"

White-hot pain sliced through his nerves as the Unforgivable hit his chest. His body curled up on itself and twitched helplessly at the merciless stabbings - it was so exquisitely all-consuming that Frank thought his head might burst with the pain of it and he screamed like never before in his life. It seemed to last forever and he thought he was doomed to the agony of it until, suddenly, it stopped.

Heaving with shock, he rolled over and pulled himself clumsily to his knees. Bellatrix was laughing.

"It seems you are as entertaining when incapacitated as you are when alert," she announced in delight.

"I do my best," he replied evenly, wanting nothing more than to blast her through a wall. "Of course, once I get rid of these..."

He twisted his torso and showed her the cords.

"...I'll have to insist you provide me with a little 'entertainment' of your own. Like dropping dead, for example."

Her face fell and she raised her wand again. Before he knew it, the sensation of being stabbed by glowing knives was upon him again and he writhed in agony on the floor for almost a minute before she released him.

"Now, now, Bella. That was much too long. We need him at least a little compos mentis if we are to achieve our goal," drawled the one she had identified as her husband.

"I don't need you to tell me what we need in order to achieve our goal, _Dolpho darling_."

_"_There is no need to be so sensitive, my love. Much is at stake here, and we cannot risk his incapacitation because of your desire to toy with him."

The witch glowered angrily at her husband. "I am more than aware of what is at stake, Rodolphus. And what gives you the impression that you are in charge here? Was it not I he always came to for advice? Was it not I who was his most favoured and loyal servant? If any here has a claim on leadership, then, by default, it is _I_!"

Frank recovered his equilibrium after the second attack whilst the two bickered amongst themselves. So, he was the prisoner of all three Lestranges? But what did they want with him? Their master was dead. He was given no more time to ponder his thoughts as the married couple came to a truce and called Rabastan over to join them. Soon, all three were gazing down at him with hungry, almost fevered expressions.

"Now, Longbottom, you will tell us where the Dark Lord is!" barked the wild-eyed woman.

What? They thought he knew their deranged master's whereabouts? If the situation hadn't been so dire, Frank would've laughed.

"You're joking, aren't you? Didn't you hear the news? Your puppet-master's dead!" he scoffed derisively.

Rabastan punched him full in the nose with such force that he felt the grinding crunch of bone. Blood exploded from his nostrils and he toppled backwards, gagging as some of it slipped down his throat. He coughed violently for several seconds before drawing a clear breath.

There was a shout of anger. "You idiot! How are we supposed to understand what he's saying with a broken nose? And don't punch him as if you are some filthy _Muggle_!"

It was the elder Lestrange. He was snapping at his brother in fury. To Frank's surprise, the man raised his arm, pointed his wand at his captive's face and muttered a spell. But it was no cause for gratitude on the Auror's part: the pain of feeling his nose snap back into position was almost as bad as having it broken in the first place.

"I agree with Dolpho, for once, Rabastan," announced Bellatrix, smiling at her brother-in-law. "You shouldn't lower yourself to act like Muggle scum. If you want to make him suffer, do this instead. _Crucio!_"

He knew it was coming before she uttered the word and he tried to steel himself for the excruciating pain, but his scant preparation did not diminish the agony of it. The only mercy was that it was of markedly shorter duration than the last time.

The witch smirked at her husband. "You see, Dolpho. I can so play in moderation," she said in a light voice before addressing the gasping Auror once more. "Now, naughty boy; let us try that again, shall we?"

Bellatrix flicked her wand and his body jerked up until he was on his knees before them.

"Where is our master?" she demanded, circling him like a predator.

"Rotting in hell, I hope. Probably waiting for you lo..."

The curse struck him from two directions this time and he screamed with renewed vigour as the ferocity of the pain escalated to an almost unbearable level. Again, it was cut short and Frank lay gasping and jerking on the ground in the aftermath of its dual strength. Rabastan grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him to his knees once more.

"Surely you realise the futility of your defiance?" queried Lestrange conversationally. There was a dangerous glint in the man's dark eyes as he watched his captive. "The more you withhold the information we require, the more you will suffer."

It was a truth that Frank Longbottom had already acknowledged. They had him bound and wandless. He was completely at their mercy.

And the Lestranges were not well-known for their mercy.

He was trapped. His eyes scanned the room, but could perceive no way out through the minimal light.

"There is no escape, Longbottom," drawled Lestrange, accurately guessing his thoughts. "No one knows where you are and no one is searching for you. They wouldn't find you if they did. You see, you are in the cellar of Malfoy Manor. Actually, I believe Lucius is attending a charity ball with the Minister of Magic somewhere in London at this very moment, trying to atone for his wicked past. Isn't that right, my love?"

"Oh, yes, Dolpho darling. Cissy's wearing a very pretty dress, too."

"Well, we all know what excellent taste your sister has. I'm sure she'll be the belle of the ball. But back to our guest. As you see, Longbottom, we also have your wand..."

The dark-haired man waved it invitingly before his nose and Frank made a futile lunge for it. All three laughed as he landed on his side.

"...so you are unarmed and very clearly outnumbered."

He glared at his captors hatefully as the truth of Lestrange's words echoed through his brain. The thought came to him that he might actually die this night and an aching sadness settled deep into his stomach. He might never see Alice again; never hold her soft curves to him and whisper in her ear that he loved her more than life itself. He might never hold the proof of their love in his arms, or see his son grow to be a man that he would be proud of. The pain of that knowledge alone was worse than anything that had occurred so far, but he would not give them the satisfaction of seeing it. He might not know where their diseased master was - if he yet lived - but even if he did, he _would_ happily die before he reunited the gloating trio with him.

Lestrange took another step towards him, bending down to look him straight in the eye. Frank Occluded his mind automatically.

"Where. Is. Our. Lord?" he whispered softly. But for all the gentleness of his tone, it was loaded with menace.

Taking a deep breath, Frank collected himself and spat a huge gob of bloodied mucus straight into Lestrange's face. The Death Eater recoiled in disgust, wiping frantically at his eyes and mouth before pointing his wand at him in hatred.

"_CRUCIO!_"

Once more, Frank collapsed, twitching and convulsing in absolute agony as the furious man vent his anger on him. A never-ending sea of pain swept through his body; wave after wave of blinding hot agony stabbing at every inch of his skin and making his every nerve vibrate in shock. It was an attack of such viciousness, that he begged his wife's and son's forgiveness as he prayed for the mercy of death.

But death did not come at that time and he almost wept with the realisation that he was still alive and may have to endure the curse again. He bit his lip so hard in an effort to control his emotions, that he drew blood, though the pain the action caused him was negligible in comparison to what he had just suffered.

Bellatrix was livid at the insult to her husband.

"How dare you treat my husband like that, blood-traitor!" she screamed in fury. "You're no better than a Mudblood and you _dare_ to spit in my husband's face? You're not worthy of the honour of the blood coursing through your filthy veins!"

"I spat in his face because his grave isn't handy, is it? And you're hardly one to preach about honour when you and your disgrace of a family are torturing an unarmed man who's got his hands tied behind his back," he replied calmly, knowing it would provoke her. He only hoped it provoked her enough to kill him on the spot.

And he thought it had worked too, when she raised her wand in fury and started to scream the Killing curse at him. However, her husband had other ideas and pushed her hand away from the badly abused Auror. Lestrange leaned over and whispered something in her ear which made her twisted features relax into a mockery of a smile before the man turned back to him.

"It's funny that you should mention family, Longbottom. I was just thinking of family myself. In fact, I would very much like you to meet someone who'll be able to give us a little more insight into 'family'."

Cold fear gripped Frank's stomach as Lestrange nodded at his brother and Rabastan left the room. What was he going to do - walk in with Alice and Neville? Oh, Merlin, if the younger Lestrange did that, he didn't know what he would do. Once He Who Must Not Be Named had been defeated, his little family had moved back to their Yorkshire home - and that had no Fidelius charm to conceal it. It had been deemed unnecessary after the War. And if the Lestranges had somehow located his house and brought Alice and Neville here...

He prayed that his wife had dropped their son off at his grandparents for the night. If Neville, at least, could be spared the malicious cruelty of his captors, then he knew he would be able to endure his own torture somehow.

Rabastan returned less than a minute later with a boy in his late teens, who sported unruly, straw-coloured hair and freckles. But although he was immeasurably relieved that it was not his wife and child being dragged behind the younger Lestrange, he was nevertheless shocked to realise he was looking at the son of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement.

"Hello again, little Crouch," purred Bellatrix, strolling over to link a friendly arm through the youth's. "Did you get what I asked for?"

The teenager nodded solemnly and stole a wide-eyed look at the captive Auror.

Frank was stunned. What was the boy doing there? Was he there willingly? No, it couldn't be. They had captured him, tricked him for their own evil gain. It would be the ultimate insult to the Ministry to have the son of one of their highest-ranking officials in their thrall.

All his former cockiness deserted him as he stared at Barty Crouch, Jnr. Convinced they had somehow duped the youth, or had him under the pull of an Imperius curse, Frank struggled with his bonds and spoke directly to the newcomer.

"Barty, you've got to fight it!"

"Fight what?" Barty asked in confusion.

"The Imperius! They've got you under the Imperius curse - don't let them control you. Fight!"

His captors shared varying looks of amusement. Even Barty grinned as he casually approached him.

"An Imperius curse, eh? Sorry to disappoint you, Frankie-boy, but I'm not."

"Of course you are! They're using you to get to your father and embarrass the Ministry. Now, don't argue - fight! Get yourself the hell out of here as quick as you can!"

Barty stood directly before him and he stared imploringly into the youth's eyes, willing him to shrug the curse off. But the boy's eyes were not clouded, as they should be.

They were clear.

Horror engulfed him as he realised the magnitude of his error, a horror which increased when Barty rolled up his left sleeve and proudly displayed the unsightly foulness of the Dark Mark that was branded into his pale skin.

"They're not using me to get to my father," he hissed. "You see, I offered myself freely. Can there be any cause more noble than ridding the world of Ministry sycophants or the filth they protect? The Ministry is little more than a bunch of useless politicians, more concerned with keeping their bleating voters happy than doing what is right."

"And what," sneered Frank in betrayal, "is your definition of 'right'?"

The youth grinned. "Oh, the usual. Death to the unworthy. The downfall of the Ministry as it now stands - and the installation of the Dark Lord as supreme ruler of the Wizarding world. He is a man of vision, the only one with the power to lead us to a glorious future: a future where the faithful thrive and the rest...well, you get the idea."

Indeed he did. The boy's eyes were alight with fevered conviction and Frank realised the Barty completely believed what he had just said. Disappointment filled him.

"Your father would be ashamed of you," he whispered.

Barty flushed and his eyes filled with loathing. "My _father _is the biggest blood-traitor of all!" the youth yelled, pacing the chamber angrily. "He sits in judgement of his own kind - _his own kind _- and feeds them to Dementors at will. He has willingly assisted in the decimation of my master's faithful followers for the past few years - and for what? So that Muggle-born filth can live in peace in _our_ world and pollute _our_ society with their inferior blood? It is _I_ who am ashamed of _him_! And of you, Longbottom. You have done more than your fair share of apprehending and killing my friends - you and your blood-traitor wife both! And for that, you will pay! _Crucio_!"

Pain coursed through Frank's body as, once again, it twitched under the power of the Cruciatus. Piercing agony stabbed at his nerves and roared through his head and he screamed until he thought he must surely lose his voice. He could vaguely hear the high-pitched laughter of his captors as they delighted in his misery, but was too absorbed in his agony to care.

"Enough, little Crouch," came the hated voice of Bellatrix and, thankfully, the curse was lifted. Frank lay gasping in the aftermath of his torture and his foggy vision registered the woman placing a placating hand on his latest abuser's arm. "Don't forget why you're here. Now, do you have it?"

He saw the boy put his hand in his long coat pocket and pull out a framed photograph.

Not just any framed photograph...

Panic filled him as he recognised the first ever baby photo of Neville, which normally held pride of place on the living room mantelpiece. Barty thrust it before his face and he saw the sweet little round face of his newborn son resting in slumber in Alice's arms as she recovered in St Mungo's. Bellatrix grabbed the photograph greedily and leered at it.

"Oh, look. Little bitty baby Bottom," she cooed in a sickening parody of affection.

"Get your filthy hands off that!" cried Frank, enraged that the twisted woman was daring to look at his son. He rounded angrily on Barty. "How did you get that?"

"Well, that is rather a long story," offered Lestrange in the youth's stead. "You see, it wasn't by coincidence that my brother ran into you today. Oh, no. It was the result of careful planning and several week's vigilance. Rabastan has been following you for almost a month, watching your every move and learning your routine. Young Barty here has done likewise with your wife. We know everything about you both. For instance: we know that you work Monday to Friday from eight in the morning until six in the evening, while your pest of a wife works only every second day until two in the afternoon. We know that every Monday and Thursday you visit the stationer's shop, that your wife takes young Neville to visit his maternal grandparents in Chorley every Wednesday afternoon after work. We know that every Friday, your mother and father watch him while the pair of you have a romantic evening out at dinner. We even know..."

The man bent low, grabbing Frank by the hair and yanking his head back and whispered in his ear.

"..._where you live_. My young friend had ample opportunity to steal into your house undetected while your wife was at work and acquire this little keepsake. Which is lucky for us, but not for you."

Lestrange released him and stepped back, smirking at him. The Auror could feel his heart hammering in his chest. It seemed so loud to him that he thought the others must surely hear it too.

He cursed himself for his stupidity. What the hell had he been thinking, letting his guard down like that? Moody would kill him for not having practised constant vigilance even though He Who Must Not Be Named had vanished without a trace! How could he have be so bloody foolish as to allow himself to be lulled into a false sense of security? Was he not an Auror? Were there not Most Wanted posters of at least three of his captors dotted all over his office - all over the bloody Wizarding world? And now look at the mess he was in. His family was now in danger of exposure to the most feared of all the Death Eaters - and it was his fault.

"Oh, is Fwanky fwightened for his baby Bottom?" declared Bellatrix in her awful baby voice. But then it changed to menace as she dropped the picture to her side and glared at him. "And so you should be. Now, you will tell us what happened to our master and where he is, or we'll all be paying your precious family a visit."

His mind was whirling. He couldn't tell them where their master was, because he didn't know. And he wouldn't tell them even if he did. Alice would never forgive him and he'd never be able to look his son in the eye again. Longbottoms had been staunch supporters of the light for a thousand years and he wouldn't betray his noble ancestors or his beautiful boy now.

But neither could he allow the people who stood so expectantly in front of him to Portkey to his home. It was relatively secluded and the nearest neighbour was half a mile away. If they took him there, they'd be able to torture his family uninterrupted. Why had he insisted on living in the country? Alice was right: they should have moved to London.

Caught between a rock and a hard place, he did the only thing he could to try and save his wife and son.

He lied.

"Alright! Fine. I'll tell you," he cried, hoping that his imagination wouldn't fail him. "He was found unconscious in the Potters' house. We captured him and Obliviated him..."

Bellatrix sneered in disgust. "Obliviated? The Dark Lord? You're lying!"

She lifted her wand to curse him again and he knew he would have to be more convincing. Giving her his most desperate look, he shook his head frantically.

"No! I'm not! I swear! We had no other choice. If we allowed him to continue to be aware of who he was, he would have fought us. But he was greatly weakened after his attack on Harry, so we took the chance it would work. And it did. Even You-Know-Who can't fight the force of three simultaneous Obliviates and we were determined not to lose our only chance of securing him."

So fervent were his words, that Rabastan and Barty looked like they were being swayed. The elder Lestrange eyed him sceptically and Frank almost sighed in relief.

Until Bellatrix spoke again.

"You would have us believe that our master - the most powerful wizard in centuries - succumbed to a mere Obliviate?" she spat scornfully. "And what then? Did you give him a nice new name and send him off to live happily ever after with a filthy Mudblood? You test my patience, Longbottom!"

"He's in Azkaban! He's being detained in the cellars of Azkaban and guarded by twenty Dementors," said their captive, before his eyes hardened and he glared at her in defiance. "He's probably foaming at the mouth as we speak; broken and defeated like the coward he is."

"YOU LIE!" she screamed, spittle flying from her mouth as her face crunched in anger. "You offer your information too easily for it to be anything more than a false claim!"

A wave of angry agreements swept the chamber and Rabastan showed his contempt by spitting at Frank's feet.

"It's not a lie," yelled Frank, with genuine desperation in his voice. If he couldn't make them believe him, his family were doomed. "He was escorted there by Dumbledore himself. If you don't believe me, ask him."

He knew they never would, because Dumbledore would waste no time in taking care of them. They feared the old man as much as their missing master did, whether or not they would admit to it. But he hoped that the very fact he had suggested they speak with him would be enough to convince them of the veracity of his claim.

Bellatrix eyed him warily and he stared straight back at her, afraid to blink.

"Perhaps there is some truth in his claim," muttered Lestrange softly. "After all, none of us were present. We cannot know for certain if he is lying."

"Is that so?"

He felt the push of another mind against his own and he tightened his Occlumency shield. Bellatrix glared at him angrily, thwarted in her attempt to delve into his memories.

"You dare to block me, Longbottom? Have you something to hide - the truth perhaps?"

"I'm telling you the truth," he replied evenly.

She paced before him and he watched her carefully as she thumped her wand against her thigh. It shot little red sparks from its tip with every contact. Suddenly, she stopped and whirled around to face him once more. This was the moment where he would learn if he had been successful in his attempts to save Alice and Neville.

The news was not good.

"If there is any truth to your pathetic claim, we need not go as far as bothering Dumbledore to have it verified," she said, smiling at him sweetly.

Frank's heart sank.

"All we need is another Auror to do that. And I know the very one to ask."

She grinned triumphantly and the other three men chuckled at his look of panic.

There was no way out and he knew it. He'd never be able to give them what they wanted, but he would be damned if he let them drag him back to his Yorkshire home without a fight. He needed a wand. If he could take one of them out and get their wand, he might have a chance. It was a long shot, but he had no other choice. Mustering what strength he had left, Frank acted.

"NO!" he cried, stumbling to his feet and lurching forward, head first, into Bellatrix' stomach. The Death Eaters were caught completely unawares, and both he and the winded witch careened backwards and crashed onto the floor. He sank his teeth into her neck and gripped with all his might as she jerked underneath him, screaming in pain. Morbid satisfaction settled in his stomach at the sound and he knew he should be ashamed of it - but he wasn't. His teeth had already broken her skin and coppery blood gushed from the wound as she pushed frantically at his shoulders, losing grip of the photograph and her wand to do so.

The clatter of her weapon on the floor was heartening, but before he could roll over to snatch it, he was hauled bodily off her by two pairs of hands and flung several feet away. His head bounced off the floor and he lay stunned and unable to defend himself against the Cruciatus curses aimed by both Rabastan and Barty Crouch, Jnr.

"You bastard! You filthy, Muggle-loving _traitor_!" screamed the younger Lestrange as his brother closed the witch's wound with an Episkey. Bellatrix clambered to her feet with her husband's aid and shoved the two wizards out of her way as she glowered at the twitching Auror. Her neck was scarlet with her own blood, her hair matted on the right side. Heavy-lidded eyes watched him dangerously and she softly called to her husband to join her. In seconds, he was faced with the married couple's glowing looks of malice.

Frank closed his eyes.

"_CRUCIO!_"

Not even in the short time that had passed since his arrival had Frank experienced such agony. It was beyond pain, beyond feeling, and as his head slammed continuously against the floor during his convulsive twitches, he knew it for what it was.

It was the purest form of hatred he had ever experienced.

When they finally stopped, he could barely breath. His chest rose and fell in jerks and his heart hammered beneath his ribcage with such speed that he thought it would explode. Blood flowed freely from his nose again and the right side of his face was scratched and torn from banging against the uneven floorboards. Cruel hands grabbed his arms and yanked him to his feet, but he couldn't even stand, so they let him hang listlessly between them.

"That was the stupidest thing you have ever done in your life," hissed Bellatrix from above his sandy head. She grabbed his hair and pulled it back, glaring at him malevolently. "But you have given us your answer, Longbottom. You have made your desire to watch your family suffer clear. And so, allow me to fulfil your wish. Barty, do it."

She held his head and made him watch his boss's son move towards the framed photo of his own child.

"_Portus!_"

It glowed blue and trembled noisily against the wooden floor for a few seconds before it stilled. He saw Barty wave his wand and the Portkey jumped into the youth's outstretched hand, then he moved back towards him, thrusting it into his slack fingers. Another hand closed them around the frame as Neville's chubby face stared up at him from Alice's arms, oblivious to the terror that was to come.

And as the other four present grasped on to the frame and the familiar sensation of a hook jerking behind his navel struck, a tear slipped down his cheek.

*~*~*~*

Barty's reconnaissance of the Longbottom house had proved so effective, that all five landed in the spacious living room, clear of the large, three-piece red sofa that surrounded the fireplace.

"Alice... Alice..." mumbled Frank in a daze as they dropped him unceremoniously to the carpeted floor. But there was no answer.

The Death Eaters spread out, with Rabastan striding to the kitchen to search for Alice and Bellatrix checking the conservatory.

"You said she would be here!" hissed Bellatrix as she and her husband rounded angrily on Barty.

"She was an hour ago. They both were. Maybe they've gone out."

Relief flooded their captive. Alice must have taken Neville to one of their parents' houses after all. They were safe!

"Check upstairs, boy!" barked Rabastan.

He watched with bated breath as the youngest Death Eater and Rabastan crept up the staircase. What if she hadn't left? What if she was upstairs at that very moment, putting Neville to bed? Fear filled him, giving him the energy to call out.

"_Alice! _Alice, run! Take Neville and Appar..."

A heavy boot kicked him in the temple, cutting off his warning and he looked up dizzily to see the malicious face of Lestrange glaring down at him.

"I don't think so, Longbottom. You attempted to deprive me of my wife, now watch as I return the favour!"

He tried to lift himself off the floor, but was too weak from the multiple curses to do more than push limply against the carpet. Then, to his absolute horror, he heard the sounds of a commotion upstairs and the angry yells of his wife. A loud bang and the shattering of glass announced that a desperate struggle was in progress. Someone screamed, but it was a man's cry of pain, followed by a dull thud.

Alice was fighting back.

A body came flying down the stairs and Frank saw Barty land heavily on one leg. There was a sickening crack as it twisted beneath the youth and he crumpled to the floor, screaming in agony.

Bellatrix gave a growl of rage and stormed up the stairs.

"Well, well, well. It seems that your wife is every bit as good an Auror as the Daily Prophet claims," stated Lestrange, sparing the fallen youth only a mild look of concern. "But even she isn't skilled enough to match my wife in a duel. Don't worry, Longbottom, she'll be joining us soon enough."

Lestrange's words proved prophetic. The commotion upstairs became more intense and he could hear his wife's voice crying out in fear as she fought the two Death Eaters.

Then came a sound that chilled him to the core.

A toddler's wailing cry split the air and all the world shrunk to that one, heart-rending sound. Frank was seized by a terror so deep, so profound that he screamed with the force of it.

"NEVILLE! NEVILLE! NEVILLE!"

He struggled desperately against his bonds and kicked out at Lestrange with his feet, toppling the man, before crawling on his knees towards the stairs. Drops of blood from his nose splattered on the cream carpet, looking like little red flowers as they blossomed across the thick, woollen fabric. But a hand grabbed him by the hair head and jerked him backwards and he fell to his side.

"How could you? How could you let her do that? HE'S A BABY!" he screamed in fury.

"He's a blood-traitor's brat," replied Lestrange callously as footsteps sounded above them both. Frank looked up to see Alice's Stunned body being levitated down the stairs by the thin, limping form of Rabastan. Her pretty blue dress was torn at the sleeve and she had a nasty head wound which bled freely down her temple.

"Alice! Alice, my love," he whispered numbly as the Death Eater led her to the red sofa and dropped her onto it.

"Oh, how touching," sneered Lestrange, levitating Frank and dropping him onto a seat facing his wife. The man left to assist Barty, who was still moaning in pain near the foot of the stairs.

Frank's worst fears were coming to life before his eyes. The first Wizarding War may be at an end, but within the four walls of his very own home, a final, bloody battle was about to take place. He took a shaky breath as he realised that he and his wife might die. But if he could save Neville...

"Don't let your wife use the Cruciatus on my son again, he's just a baby," he pleaded of Lestrange, who had conjured splints for Barty's leg and was helping the youth hobble to an armchair. "He's no threat to you. Show some compassion and tell her to let him go."

"She never used it on him!" barked Rabastan angrily, who was glowering at Alice in hatred and nursing a large patch of raw, seeping skin on his left thigh that had been singed with one of her well-aimed hexes. "You're lucky Bella has a soft spot for children, because if it had been up to me, I'd have Crucio-ed the brat senseless."

A wave of relief swept through Frank as he sank listlessly into the back of the sofa. Thank Merlin! Neville must have been crying in fear as he watched his mother battle the two Death Eaters in her attempts to protect him. But Frank was no fool: Bellatrix Lestrange had no 'soft spot' for anyone - least of all children - despite what her brother-in-law claimed. So what was she doing upstairs with his son?

At that very moment, he heard Neville's cries of fear and swivelled his head to see Bellatrix descending the stairs with the straining form of the two-year-old in her arms. The toddler's face was scarlet, his cheeks soaked with tears and he was pushing desperately at the leering witch.

"_Neville! _Neville, it's alright son. Daddy's here. It's alright!" he called out, trying to keep his voice level for the child's sake.

"Yes, baby Bottom," cooed Bellatrix happily as she came to a stop at the sofa and taunted him by keeping his son just out of reach. "Daddy's here little baby. And he's vewy fwightened for you."

"Dada! Dada!" cried Neville, twisting his torso and reaching his arms out to his father. Frank tried to stand to go to him, but was pushed back by Lestrange. He had never felt so helpless in his life.

"For Merlin's sake, let him go, Lestrange! He's a baby. Don't make him watch this!"

"He will watch what I deem necessary," the Death Eater replied coldly, pointing his wand at Alice.

"_Rennervate!_"

Alice's eyes fluttered open, but before she had a chance to sit up, Lestrange cursed her.

"_Crucio!_"

Neville's screams of fear were almost as loud as his mother's screams of pain and Frank bolted off the sofa in an attempt to ram himself into the smirking face of Rodolphus Lestrange. He was restrained by Rabastan, who threw him back on the sofa.

"You bastard! You complete bastard!"

Lestrange lifted the curse on his twitching wife and settled himself on the edge of the mahogany coffee table while she recovered.

"Good evening, Alice. No doubt you know my name?" he said pleasantly. It made Frank's skin crawl to see the killer sitting so close to his wife and he wished for the umpteenth time that he had his wand.

"What do you want, Lestrange," she barked angrily, throwing worried glances at her distressed child. The urge to rip him from the grasp of Bellatrix was stamped all over her face. "And how dare you let that mad bitch touch my son. I ought to arrest you all for that alone."

Lestrange laughed and his wife cackled gleefully.

"Kill her!" spat Barty from the armchair. "She'll never tell us what we want to know. Just kill her. She broke my leg!"

"Shush now, little Crouch. You'll upset baby Bottom. Isn't that wight, baby Bottom? Is that nasty man making you all fwightened with his scawy voice, hmm?"

"Leave my son alone," snapped Alice dangerously.

The other witch laughed. "Or you'll do what? Don't worry, Mummy Bottom. Baby and I are going to be vewy, vewy good fwiends, aren't we?"

She pinched the child's cheek viciously and the boy screamed, flailing out at her with his chubby fists. He caught her smack in the nose and in her surprise, Bellatrix dropped him. Neville landed on the floor and smacked his head on the coffee table. He went limp.

"NEVILLE!" yelled Alice, leaping from her seat and it was all that the two Lestrange men could do to restrain her. Frank had already launched himself across the table and into Bellatrix' stomach and, once again, the two of them went sprawling backwards.

"_CRUCIO!_" shouted someone behind him and he heard his wife screaming in agony. Bellatrix managed to push him off her this time without sustaining further injury and she pointed her wand at him.

"_Levicorpus!_"

As if some massive hand had grabbed him by the ankle, Frank was pulled up into the air and dangling upside down.

"If you hurt my son again, _I'll kill you_!" he bellowed. "Neville! Neville!"

"Well aren't you the big, bad daddy?" she mocked, straightening her robes and stepping forward to look up at his face. "But that will be difficult while you're up there and I'm down here, don't you agree? Still, I can't leave you dangling up there all day where you can't see the fun."

She waved her wand again and he went crashing into the sofa before she moved over to train it on his chest. Lestrange had lifted the curse on Alice, who was sobbing as she tried to reach their son.

"You bitch! _You bitch! _I'll kill you!"

"Yes, yes. I'm afraid you'll have to get in line," Bellatrix said, sounding extremely bored.

Frank watched his son, trying to ascertain if he was alive and nearly cried in relief when he saw Neville's chest moving in slow, rhythmic motions. He lived! Unconscious, perhaps, but under the circumstances, that was no bad thing - he did not want him to witness his parents' torture. Praying that the jolt to his son's head hadn't done any serious damage, he faced his aggressors once more.

"Now that all the excitement has died down, Longbottom, perhaps your wife will be able to verify your dubious claims of the Dark Lord's whereabouts?" said Lestrange, sitting next to Alice and placing his arm around her shoulders. She tried to move away but he pulled her roughly back and the Death Eaters laughed in derision.

"Oh, Dolpho dear. It seems that the lady is rejecting your advances," purred Bellatrix, grinning at her husband. "She doesn't know what she's missing."

They laughed again.

"It is of no matter, my love. As long as she tells us where our master is."

Frank watched his wife, trying to communicate with her silently, but it was useless. She was no Legilimens. She couldn't read his memories of what he had told them earlier no matter how hard she tried.

And even if she could, he doubted it would make any difference now. The Lestranges _never_ left witnesses.

"Well, Alice. I'm waiting for your answer. And I am not generally known for my patience. Where is the Dark Lord?"

His wife turned her head towards her aggressor and, for the second time that evening, Lestrange experienced the humiliation of having a Longbottom spit in his face. The man recoiled in disgust.

"If you want to see your master so much, give me my wand and I'll send you to him. A quick Killing curse should do the trick," snapped Alice and Frank swallowed hard. The last time _he_ had done that...

And she, too, paid for her defiance. The Lestrange brothers turned on her in fury, the elder wiping her saliva from his face, and together they took aim.

"_Crucio!_"

"ALICE!"

Her petite form snapped into a violently jerking, twitching ball; her legs drawn up to her chest and her arms bent inwards as the Death Eaters held the curse for one minute, two minutes. The screams were horrific.

"GET OFF HER! STOP IT! STOP IT, YOU BASTARDS!" Frank shouted, beside himself with fury. He lifted his legs to kick the coffee table in their direction, but the other witch inhibited his progress with an Impedimenta, knocking him on to his side. He lay there, yelling at them uselessly while his wife's screams filled the room and his fury made Bellatrix beam with pleasure.

It seemed an age before the brothers desisted. Frank watched with a mixture of relief and fear as she stopped convulsing and heard her moan softly before her eyes fluttered open.

"You will _never_ do that again," hissed Lestrange, yanking her upright by her hair and glaring at her maliciously. "Now, this is the last time I will ask: _where is my master!_"

"Gone for good, I hope."

Her voice was tremulous, still affected by the power of the curse she had endured, but it was nevertheless defiant. He was proud of her, but terrified what Lestrange would do. Forced to watch and be able to do nothing to help her, he heard her say:

"My offer to kill you still stands."

Enraged by her refusal to cooperate, Lestrange straightened himself and raised his wand again, but this time at Frank.

"Perhaps you require a little persuasion?" drawled the man as he and his Death Eater sibling turned to point their wands at Frank.

Relieved his wife would be spared, he offered what assurances he could. "Don't tell him anything, Alice, no matter what he does to me. Just don't say a word to him."

"Oh, how sweet!" cried Bellatrix in a sing-song voice. She took a seat on the arm of the opposite sofa, settling down to watch the show.

Alice watched him with fear in her wide blue eyes, her pretty face ashen. "Frank..."

"_Crucio!"_

Intense pain enveloped him again, electrifying his nerve endings and he screamed with the agony of the white-hot knives stabbing viciously through his skin. On and on it went, a never-ending cycle of the sadistic cruelty of his tormentors. It was by far the longest period he had endured yet and he thought it would surely never end.

When it finally, blissfully, ended, he could barely breath. He retched violently, emptying his stomach over the edge of the sofa without shame. He was beyond such feeble emotions now.

He heard sobbing as the heaving ended and flopped his head back on the sofa to see his wife trying to reach him but being restrained from behind by Bellatrix, who had scuttled over to gloat in her ear.

"Do you see what happens when you defy us, blood-traitor? Your husband's agonies are your fault. All you have to do to stop them is confirm what he told us. If you do not, his suffering will continue. Now: where is our master?"

"No...Alice...not your...fault..."

"Frank! Frank! I'm sorry. I love you!"

"_Where is the Dark Lord!_" yelled Bellatrix directly in her ear. Alice flinched, then sharply jerked her head back, smashing it straight into the other woman's face. There was a loud cry of pain, then she whirled around and launched her body over the sofa and into Bellatrix with such force that they toppled out of sight behind it. Rabastan made a move to assist his sister-in-law until...

"_Stupefy!_"

It was a woman's voice, but the hatred made it unrecognisable - until Alice reappeared. Frank's heart leapt with hope as she brandished her enemy's wand and took aim at the Lestrange brothers in fury.

"_Expelliarmus!"_

Their wands flew from their hands and they bellowed in rage, lunging towards her. Alice aimed at the coffee table.

"_Oppugno!"_

The heavy mahogany object raised itself up and smashed into the two men, who went sailing across the room before crashing into the display cabinet on the left wall and falling dazed to the floor in a tangle of limbs, glass and wood.

Frank heart hammered wildly in his chest as his wife fired of hexes and jinxes with the practised ease of the skilled Auror she was. Barty scrambled from the armchair, balancing wildly on one leg and tried to blindside her, but she saw him from the corner of her eye and lashed out angrily.

"_Tarantallegra!_"

There was a sort of poetic justice in watching the traitor son of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement wobble about uncontrollably - on _both_ his legs. The boy screamed in agony as his broken limb twitched wildly beneath him and he went crashing to the floor. Frank, still dazed from his prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus curse, watched almost absently as Barty's legs continued to flail as he lay writhing on the ground. He barely noticed when Alice freed him from his bonds before grabbing Neville.

"Frank, you have to get up," she called desperately, cradling their son over her shoulder. "They won't be down for long. We have to go!"

She jerked her head in the direction of the rear wall, where Lestrange and Rabastan were slowly coming back to their groggy senses. He knew she was right, but he could barely move, having endured too much insult to his body. His limbs were trembling and would never support his weight - Alice would not be able to get him and Neville out _and_ fend off the Lestranges.

"Take Neville and go. No, Alice! I...I'm in bad shape...I'll never make it. You have to go!"

"I'm not leaving you here!" she hissed angrily. "Now get off your lazy arse and _move_, Auror Longbottom!"

Her eyes flashed as she glared at him, a picture of righteous anger with a mop of unruly brown curls.

Merlin, how he loved her!

For her sake, he pulled himself up off the sofa and took a few shaky steps.

"To the fireplace! We'll Floo to the Ministry - they won't follow us there," she said, grabbing his arm and dragging him along.

She had just picked up a handful of powder when…

"Accio wands! _CRUCIO!"_

They halted in their tracks and saw Rabastan had recovered enough to pick himself up and Summon the brothers' weapons wandlessly and was more than willing to recommence with the hostilities. Frank saw the jet of coloured light heading straight for his wife and son and, horrified that Neville would be caught up in it, he threw himself in its path, crashing to the floor in agony.

"_Stupefy!"_

The curse was lifted as the Death Eater collapsed, but Frank was unable to move any more. His head was bursting with the accumulation of so many Unforgivables and it was as much as he could do to focus on the green flames that burst from the fireplace after Alice threw the powder in.

"The Ministry of Magic!"

She settled Neville's limp form in the fireplace and he watched his son's sweet face, memorising every curve and hollow, before the toddler was whisked away.

"Right, Frank Longbottom. Shift your arse into that fireplace."

But he couldn't move. The events of the evening had been just too much and now his body was shutting down. He heard the panic in her voice as he lay there, unable to verbalise and powerless to do as she asked. He saw Barty, still writhing on the floor, grab his wand and point it at his legs, which stilled, and he realised that she was in danger if she did not leave immediately. He tried to indicate the fireplace with his eyes, then looked pointedly at her before looking at it again.

"Not on you life, Longbottom. We're a team. We live together, we die together. Now MOVE!"

Alice grabbed him by the shoulders and dragged him towards the hearth, but his dead weight was too heavy, so she levitated him and he felt himself floating towards it instead.

"_EXPELLIARMUS!"_

Frank thudded to the floor mere inches from safety as the wand Alice had won from Bellatrix went sailing towards Barty Crouch, Jnr. The teenager was screaming at her triumphantly as he blasted her back towards the staircase. She flew into the banister at the same time he lifted the spell on Bellatrix. The dark-haired witch sprang to her feet, glowering in hatred as she snatched her wand from Barty and searched for her prey. Spotting the fallen mother, she strode angrily towards her.

"So, little Alice Longbottom thinks she can get the better of me, does she?" she snapped.

The elder Lestrange had, by this time, recovered his senses and freed his brother and they made their furious way to Bellatrix. From his position on the floor between the edge of the sofa and the hearth, he saw the ripped cloth of the back of the men's robes where the glass from the display cabinet had sliced into them. Blood dripped from Rabastan's shoulder, but the wizard was too angry to notice.

"Well? You dare to defy us? You _will_ tell us how my master fell. You will tell us how the Potter brat managed to incapacitate the most powerful wizard in the world. _You will tell us where the Dark Lord is and how to find him!_" screamed Bellatrix, pointing her wand and using her favourite Unforgivable again. She held it for a minute as Frank watched his wife suffer in agony.

"My love, let us hear her answer. Her _final_ answer," announced Lestrange, putting a hand on his wife's arm and forcing her to lower her weapon.

Alice replied in a voice tremulous with pain, but the feeling behind it was undeniable. "Albus Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard in the world. And your sorry master was beaten into submission by a one-year-old boy. Voldemort is dead!"

Bellatrix was furious. "You _dare_ to call him by his name?"

"It doesn't seem that I have much to lose now, does it? You mad bitch!"

"Very well, Alice. You have made your choice," stated the elder Lestrange, speaking with eerie calmness as he restrained his wife from lashing out. He pointed his wand at the stricken mother and levitated her to the centre of the room. Then he pointed it at Frank and long ropes whipped out to encase his chest and legs, trapping them firmly, before levitating him several metres and dropping him five feet away from his wife.

"It seems your wife refuses to verify your claims, Longbottom. Indeed, her version conflicts somewhat with your own, don't you think? So who is telling the truth and who is lying?"

The Death Eater stared expectantly at the fallen Auror, but Frank merely eyed him with cold hatred.

"So be it. As your wife refuses to cooperate, you will now witness the price for her defiance."

Horror gripped him as he watched Alice turn her head towards him. "I'm sorry," she mouthed, knowing that he would be devastated by her loss.

Bellatrix was bouncing in excitement as her husband called out: "Barty, join us."

Primal fear ripped through Frank's body as he gazed at the soft features of his beloved wife, before it was blocked from view. Both Lestrange brothers and Bellatrix closed menacingly in on her. Merlin! All _four_ of them were going to curse her at the same time. And if they held it on her as long as they had the last time...

He watched in horror as Barty hobbled from behind the sofa towards his Death Eater comrades. The youth was grinning at him as he took his place at Alice's head.

"Barty, don't do this! She's never done anything to you!" he begged desperately, hoping to sway the boy. But Barty merely glared at him in disdain.

"Oh, really? And what do you call this?" Crouch, Jnr demanded, pointing at his splinted leg. "Or her Muggle-loving treachery? I'm not going to do anything to her that she didn't ask for, am I?"

"No, Barty, no! _No!_"

"_CRUCIO!_"

The power of the four simultaneous curses lifted his wife several inches off the floor. She screamed in agony as she fell back down and her head banged repeatedly on the woollen carpet.

"ALICE! ALICE!"

"What's the matter, Daddy Bottom?" yelled Bellatrix happily. "Never made your wife thrash before? Not jealous, are you?"

Her disgusting comment was lost on the Auror, who was gasping in short, tight bursts. He squirmed on the floor, almost manic with the need to reach his spouse. Alice's piercing cries were enough to crack glass.

"Isn't this fun?" gloated Barty happily as all four Death Eaters cursed his wife for minute after agonising minute. Alice's screams were becoming gurgles, her eyes were rolling in her head and drool spilled from her mouth.

Frank wanted to kill the boy.

"Tell them to stop!" he shouted at him. "I've already given you what you wanted - tell them to stop."

Bellatrix did stop. Angrily, she pivoted around, leaving her companions to continue without her and narrowed her eyes at him. "Given us what we wanted? But look around you, Longbottom: do you see the Dark Lord here? Because _he_ is what we want! You lied to us back in Lucius' cellar and everyone here knows it. Your sorry deception was compounded as soon as your useless wife said he was dead. How can he be dead, if he's being guarded by twenty Dementors in Azkaban, hmm? Tell me that?"

Tears coursed down the side of Frank's face as his wife's gurgling screams rolled on and on. He couldn't answer the dark-haired witch. There was no answer to give and they both knew it. He closed his eyes and tried to drown out the pain of Alice's suffering with the mental image of his son. The only consolation he had was that Neville was safe. Someone from the Ministry would have noticed his arrival by now and would surely be trying to identify him. He may even already be receiving treatment for his head wound in St Mungo's.

His thoughts skipped to James and Lily. He wondered if they had suffered as he and Alice were suffering now. Who would have thought that after the fall of He Who Must...

No! _Voldemort!_ It would be an insult to his wife's bravery not to call the monster by name. as she had.

Who would have thought that after the fall of _Voldemort_ and the end of the War, that they would end up like this?

For if someone had told him a day ago that he would be in this position now, he might not have believed them. Almost everyone thought the worst of the Death Eaters had left the country or gone into hiding after the fall of their master. And the months that the Ministry and the Order had spent tracking them down, only to come up empty handed, had seemed to verify this. Lucius Malfoy had claimed he was under the influence of an Imperius and had managed to buy his way out of trouble. Several others had been successfully detained and arrested, most notably Karkaroff. But never the ones they had really wanted.

Never the Lestranges.

So the Ministry and the Order had relaxed their guard. Breathed out in relief. Counted their blessings and become complacent.

As had he.

And this was the price for his complacency. His wife was screaming for the eighth minute in a row under a quadruple Cruciatus curse and he, Frank Longbottom - one half of the most effective Auror teams in recent years - was trussed up and helpless to assist her.

Perhaps Lily and James had been fortunate after all: death was preferable to this.

He barely noticed when Alice's screams stopped, so deafening was the silence. It was clear to him that his wife must be dead, for no human body could resist the strength and intensity of such a prolonged Cruciatus. So instead, he kept his mind's eye on his beautiful son, as the Death Eaters crowed and laughed and turned to him.

He was next.

Random thoughts fired through his brain as the four crowded around him eagerly. Did Tom really have an Aunt Mabel? Had Barbara managed to convince Gerald not to call his new owl Bogey? Had Sally found his bag of parchments and ink lying scattered across Diagon Alley when she closed the shop for the night? If so, had she alerted the Ministry? Would his colleagues come barging through the door, vengeance in their eyes and murder on their minds after finding his unconscious son in the Ministry fireplaces?

Would his parents miss him?

The thought of their pain was almost too much to bear, so he concentrated once more on the sweet, round face of his boy.

"Your turn, Longbottom. What's good for the goose is good for the gander!" exclaimed Lestrange. Bellatrix squealed in glee.

Frank Longbottom did not close his eyes in fear. He did not give them the satisfaction of begging for mercy. Instead, he spent what he thought were his last few seconds of life concentrating on the memory of his son's features and murmuring words so softly that none could hear them.

"I love you, Neville. I'll always love you. Don't be scared. Don't ever let them beat you, because you're worth a dozen of them. Be brave, my fine boy. Daddy will always be proud of you. I love you. I love you. I love..."

And as Bellatrix Black-Lestrange, Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange and Bartemius Crouch, Jnr lifted their wands, he succumbed to that final, exquisite, excruciating torture, never realising that he would live.

Never knowing that he would never recognise his beloved son again.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX**

_Author's Note: _Well, I don't know if it's a realistic scenario of what may have happened that dreadful night, but I certainly feel more than a little uncomfortable after writing it. In fact, I had to write it over several days because the thought of depicting torture scenes was so disturbing. But I felt that Frank's and Alice's courage deserved to be demonstrated and I hope I have achieved that without portraying some sort of torture-glorifying fic. That was definitely not my intent.

I have no idea if the Longbottoms were tortured at home or not because I don't think it's stated in canon anywhere. But I set the final scene there anyway. You will note that I had a two-year-old Neville present. Again, I have no idea if he was or not, but I thought it reasonable to assume that he would be at his own house with his mother. I drew the line at having him Crucio-ed because the thought was too sickening, regardless of whether Bellatrix would have happily done so, had he been present at that time. And I also had her accidentally drop him, not throw him maliciously to the floor and wound him. Again, realistic or not, I couldn't portray that sort of deliberate cruelty to a child.

I am presuming that the Auror's barged in at some stage after finding Neville and that the four despicable Death Eaters fled before they were captured.

At this point, I would normally say 'hope you enjoyed reading', but I won't. Instead, let me say I hope it gives us all a better idea of why they were so well-loved in the Wizarding world and why the attack on two such brave people induced the wrath of the community.

Thanks for reading,

Kara's Aunty.


End file.
